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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27950216">The New Guard</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldmonger/pseuds/Goldmonger'>Goldmonger</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Humor, Brotherly Bonding, Family Dynamics, Gen, Multi, Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On, The Winchester Family (Supernatural), Vampires, Werewolves, here's to the adventures we'll never see</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:48:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,193</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27950216</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldmonger/pseuds/Goldmonger</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchester Chronicles: Year One. Featuring Dean Winchester II, Sam Fitzgerald, Castiel Fitzgerald, and several metric tonnes of issues.</p><p>(Hey. <i>You<i> try living up to those names.)</i></i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester Jr. &amp; Sam Fitzgerald &amp; Castiel Fitzgerald</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The New Guard</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Totally self-indulgent prologue to a non-existent series. It'd be fun though, right? :D</p><p>(Yes, I'm having withdrawal symptoms)</p><p> </p><p>*</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“All parents damage their children. It cannot be helped. Youth, like pristine glass, absorbs the prints of its handlers. Some parents smudge, others crack, a few shatter childhoods completely into jagged little pieces, beyond repair.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>- Mitch Albom, The Five People You Meet In Heaven</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Heads up!”</p><p>Dean ducked automatically, snatching up the lapels of the vampire’s jacket and dragging him to the floor. Above them, a body sailed through the recently vacated space and into a mirror on the adjacent wall. Even the vampire gripping Dean’s wrists winced at the resulting <em>crack</em>.</p><p>“Watch where you’re punting those!”</p><p>“Look alive, bro, got one coming to ya –,”</p><p>“Don’t even think about it –,”</p><p>“Guys!” Dean yelled, lifting the vampire off the once-immaculate pile carpet and slamming him into a bookcase, “not the time!”</p><p>He turned back to his vampire, just in time to see a head-butt coming his way. He jerked to the side, letting the force of the attack harmlessly bump his shoulder, and retaliated with a knee to the groin; the vampire wheezed out several curses on his family line, which Dean might have taken personally had this nest’s ambush not ruined his evening plans. They involved nothing beyond bingeing the sixth <em>Star Wars</em> trilogy, but still.</p><p>There was the sound of splintering wood, and the unmistakable crunch of bone, then an amused enquiry: “You okay over there, little brother?”</p><p>“Always,” Dean shouted in response, which was easier than glaring. He stepped away from his quarry, and drew his machete from the sheath strapped to his back. The harness still pinched his underarms, but it certainly beat the thick belts that larger blades necessitated on hunts. He liked keeping his hips free for his gun holsters, anyway. They were a security blanket of sorts.</p><p>The vampire opposite him, who was as emaciated as a junkie, crouched low like he was about to pounce. “You’re nothing more than hounds,” he snarled, a row of fangs curving over his tongue. “And there are more of us. We will take more girls, as many as we want.”</p><p>“Not a foot shorter you won’t,” Dean told him amicably, and lurched forwards, the vampire half a second behind him. It was all the time he needed to arc his machete between outstretched arms, right under the hinge of the vampire’s jaw. Dark blood spurted up over a nearby family portrait in a filigree frame, and the vampire’s head bounced, leaving smears of red on the now thoroughly destroyed carpet. Dean watched it roll until it came to rest under a large, filthy boot.</p><p>“Thought we might have to rescue you,” said Sam, grinning. He kicked the head through a doorway that opened into a lavishly decorated parlour, a target that was a considerable distance away. Half the house was painted with blood anyway, Dean thought, remembering the formerly rich and presently exsanguinated victims upstairs. One more trail of gore wasn’t going to make the neighbours’ discovery of the place any more horrific. Hopefully.</p><p>“You were busy enough,” Dean replied, wiping his machete on the vampire’s stained shirt. He could see the scattered remains of almost a dozen members of the deadly nest they were hunting, bits and pieces dotting the living room floor and the hallway. “Do you guys like the taste of vamp flesh or something? Where are your damn weapons?”</p><p>Sam glanced innocently around at the carnage, just as Cas loped back into the room, teeth jarringly white in a mask of dripping blood. He had a vampire head under each arm.</p><p>“Took a while,” he said apologetically, picking through the bodies to reach them. “But it was worth it. This one –,” he hoisted a woman’s head, slack and lank-haired, “– gave me the locations of their headquarters, and this one –,” he tossed Sam a bearded, sallow-skinned head, “– served up the exact facility where they keep their blood slaves.”</p><p>“’Took a while’,” Dean repeated, as Sam drop-kicked the second head in the same direction as the first. “So you <em>did</em> use your teeth on them.”</p><p>Cas nodded enthusiastically. “Werewolf bites burn the shit out of them. Better than dead man’s blood.”</p><p>Dean wrinkled his nose. “I know that. It doesn’t mean you have to be so – hands on about it. Didn’t your mom harvest lycanthropic venom for darts? I’ve seen them in your truck.”</p><p>Cas licked his lips, and Sam, beside him, couldn’t seem to prevent a snort from slipping out.</p><p>“This way’s more fun,” said Cas, eyes flickering yellow. Dean scoffed, wiping the last of the blood from his machete and sliding it back over the length of his spine.</p><p>“You’re a beast. Not in the cool way, either.”</p><p>“Can’t be spouting lines like that when you’re rolling around with the dogs,” Sam chided, pulling Dean into a headlock. “That vamp you iced thought you were one of us, didn’t he, little brother?”</p><p>Dean didn’t bother contesting his strength against that of a werewolf, having far too much experience getting his ass handed to him in such competitions – way back to being babysat, instances of the twins taking their job quite literally. He settled for huffing and puffing and utilising his pointy elbows. “Must have been the smell,” he said, muffled. “It’s pungent in here.”</p><p>“You guys need to quit goofing,” said Cas, a head still under one arm. “Those rich dicks upstairs are dead and their kids are missing. And I’m hungry.”</p><p>“That’s really insensitive, man.”</p><p>“Me? <em>You’re</em> roughhousing at a crime scene! Dad said we weren’t supposed to do that!”</p><p>“I’m just being reassuring. This is basically a hug, right De –,”</p><p>Sam grunted, cut off as he went sprawling to the floor. Dean retracted his extended foot, relieved Sam’s grip on him had gone mostly lax before he attempted the manoeuvre. He preened a little, even so; his agility was improving.  </p><p>“Nice,” said Cas, giving him a well-deserved high-five. “Been practising?”</p><p>“I’ve been working full-time with you almost a year,” said Dean, feeling his cheeks heat. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”</p><p>“No clue,” drawled Sam, lying below, “because you never tell us anything.”</p><p>“I tell you guys everything,” Dean lied, as Cas grabbed Sam’s hand and yanked him up, passing him the remaining head. Sam took it, and just as quickly lobbed over his shoulder. He then rounded on Dean. “Prove it,” he said. “Right now. How are you feeling?”</p><p>Dean had a fresh batch of bruises on bruises, he could tell without checking, but that was part of the package of being a hunter: endless collateral damage.</p><p>“I’m fine.”</p><p>He was used to it, he meant.</p><p>“You’re killing me, bro,” said Cas, while Sam groaned. “This is like bleeding a stone.”</p><p>“He thinks we’re nothing but jocks.”</p><p>“Not up to snuff.”</p><p>“He’s bored by us.”</p><p>Dean sighed at their performance, gesturing around at the multi-million dollar blood-splattered home of a mutilated oil magnate. “Bored? How would that be possible?”</p><p>“Just asking,” said Sam jovially. “I know our little profession is no Doctors Without Borders, but…”</p><p>“Yeah, we’re no super-charity. We don’t have a bunch of degrees.”</p><p>“We’re not college grads who’ve never had real weed.”</p><p>“Not heroes in little lab coats –,”</p><p>“Can you quit that?” Dean snapped, causing the twins to stiffen in surprise. Dean couldn’t quite bring himself to care. Leaving a career in medicine had earned him enough scorn and pity to last him a lifetime, and he was reaching his limit on the amount of good humour he was capable of offering in return. He’d heard every jibe, seen every raised eyebrow from Kaia and Gertie and the rest, felt the sucker punch of Alex’s disappointment when he told her he was giving up a dream he’d worked for since he was a teenager. She’d given him the damn brochures for Columbia, and he’d seen her heart break in real time. He didn’t like to imagine who else he would have hurt if he’d given up sooner, like he’d planned.</p><p>“I’m not with them,” he added irritably, smothering a familiar surge of shame. “I’m here. That should tell you something about where I want to be.”</p><p>He pushed past both twins and strode into the gilt-and-marble hallway, skirting the leftover body parts with more than a hint of rebellion in his gut. He tried not to think about the couple on the floor above them, who had thrown in their lot with a bunch of human-trafficking vampires, and ended up mincemeat after reneging on their partnership. It was a sick kind of justice, certainly, but human corpses mangled that way still made him nauseous, and the missing children even more so.</p><p>And now there was his own emotional baggage on top of that. Of course.</p><p>“Dean! Wait up.”</p><p>He kept walking, past the extravagant staircase and into the foyer with the high ceiling and a chandelier that was illuminating the bodies of four dead vampires. It was eerie to see; the massacre was reflected in the wide bay windows, night that pooled liquid black.</p><p>“Dean!”</p><p>He felt tired, all of a sudden, the adrenaline from the fight leaking out of him in a torrent. His limbs were leaden and his ribs hurt, inexplicably. He thought he might have taken more than one hit to his old bruises, maybe enough to fracture, considering the ache when he inhaled too deeply. He slowed to a shuffle, and waited for the inevitable battering hands of a pair of six-foot two brick shithouses. That was how Claire described them, anyway, when she was feeling magnanimous enough not to use ‘tweedle-dumb and tweedle-dipshit’.</p><p>Sam got to him first, stilling him, and it was only then that he realised he’d been swaying. “You good?” he asked, dubious enough to make it an obviously rhetorical question.</p><p>“Sorry,” said Dean dully, as Cas scooted up on his other side. “Didn’t mean to blow up at you.”</p><p>“That’s all right,” said Sam, and Dean knew the twins well enough by now to register the silent conversation they started having over the top of his head. When Sam’s face returned to his periphery, it was twisted with worry. “It’s been a rough year, huh? This hunt included, but –,”</p><p>“Everything else, too,” Cas continued, with an identical frown. “We’re delighted you’re fully on board with us now, no duh –,”</p><p>“And we have your back,” Sam said seriously, draping an arm across it. “No matter what. It’s just a lot to handle for any one dude. Going from a pretty neat gig like the one you had to being in the trenches… and –,” Sam swallowed audibly, “– especially since your dad didn’t want –,”</p><p>“My dad has been gone for a year now,” said Dean flatly. An old anger and a well-worn resentment stirred in his chest like a hibernating creature, eager to wake. It warred with the memory of smoke, curling from a pyre in a clearing he’d visited many times; one mound of earth that became two, side by side, Dean shuddering over them and dripping with sweat from the heat of the fire, or the exertion of burying the ashes. Who buried ashes, anyway, he’d enquired, when he still had a hospital bed to lean on instead of a grave. His father had wrapped his hand in skeletal fingers and explained that a pyre leaves almost nothing behind, no remnant that can tether a soul, which is right; but not enough, not for him. His father had wanted something to keep, something – <em>someone </em>– he could visit with his son. Somewhere – <em>someone</em> – that would embrace him when he finally passed over.</p><p>So Dean had been run ragged. Burning and then burying what was left of his father. Bringing him home, which was not with Dean but with <em>someone</em> else, in a hole in the ground, in a hole in the sky. Same difference, from Dean’s perspective.</p><p>“He’s gone,” Dean said again, more forcefully. He shrugged Sam off of him and headed for the glossy, fingerprint-laden front door. “It doesn’t matter that he didn’t want me to hunt. Not now.”</p><p>“Little bro,” pleaded Cas. “Maybe we should –,”</p><p>“What?” said Dean, one foot into the pitch-black, wintry morning. He swivelled, and saw the twins, tall and lithe and two of the most lethal killers in the entire hunting community, bowed with sorrow. They’d loved his father too, Dean knew. Everyone closest to him seemed to spend their lives loving dead men who left messes behind them. What a waste, he thought viciously. Not for the first time.</p><p>“There are kids out there being drained by blood-sucking freaks,” said Dean, ignoring the creature in his chest, growling to life. “Are we going to stand here and gossip or are we going to do our fucking jobs?”</p><p>Cas smiled hesitantly, patterned dark with drying blood. Sam’s lips thinned, but he nodded, one sharp jerk that made Dean straighten authoritatively. He was better than he used to be, he remembered. He was fast and he was clever and he could survive the vocation that had murdered half his family before he knew them. He could do it.</p><p>There were millions of doctors. There weren’t many Winchesters left.</p><p>“Let’s go,” he told the twins, and stepped into the darkness.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*I have a billion headcanons about Dean the Second and his eccentric extended family of hunters, both past and present (because Sam the First might have felt alone, but I'm adamant that he was never left alone, not by his friends.) </p><p>*Let me know what you think! And if you'd like to see me lose it over the show drop by my <a href="https://ronon-dex.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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